


and a happy new year

by not_so_weary_pilgrim (orphan_account)



Series: maybe the real bounty was the family we found along the way [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen, New Year's Kiss, but once he's done his research, date night awwww yeah, dyn has to google everything, i need u guys to understand that this is another self-indulgence fic, including romance, omera better WATCH OUT, read at ur own risk of cavities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/not_so_weary_pilgrim
Summary: “Okay.” He sighs. “Uh, well, she said that Omera’s always liked it when the guy…dips the girl? What does that even mean?”Cara snorts. “Y’know, like when he kisses her. Leans her back. It’s all dramatic, makes good photos.”“Huh.” Dyn scratches his neck again. “Is…that something people do in real life?”“Mostly at weddings.” Cara shrugs. “If your goal with this is to sweep her off her feet, then I’d say kissing her in a way that she’s always thought to be really romantic is probably a safe bet.”“Okay.” Dyn squints down at his paperwork. “But…why is that seen as romantic? Why do women like it?”Cara throws her hands up. “You think I know? Did you forget who you’re talking to?”“What, you’ve never kissed anyone that way?”“No, because I’ve always been afraid I’ll drop them.” Cara shrugs.Dyn feels his eyes widen. “Is…wait, I – what do you mean drop them? Has that happened before?”Orthe new year's fic that, to my everlasting shock, somebody actually did ask for
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Series: maybe the real bounty was the family we found along the way [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580236
Comments: 52
Kudos: 392





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I love all of you so much and have wept (LITERALLY WEPT) from the comments on the Christmas fic. Thank you all so, so much. I hope you like this one too.
> 
> Cred for the title of this series goes to @honeyhardcandy on tumblr!

The week between Christmas and New Year’s passes in some kind of hazy, joy-soaked blur. Half the time Dyn spends wondering if this feeling is a production of the holidays, or of the two newest additions to his list of people for whom he’d give up his right arm to keep happy and safe.

Omera’s job – receptionist at a cardiologist downtown – is open for just a few days before they close again for New Year’s. He has a run of shifts where he gets off in the late evening, so they end up taking both kids in turns and not seeing very much of each other in the meantime. It sucks, but Dyn is learning to appreciate texting more than he ever thought possible, and not even in a flirtatious way. It’s just nice to know that he can pick up his phone and reach her. She learns absurdly fast how to tell if he’s having a rough day just through his texts, though to be fair he learns to do the same.

Which is why when he picks up a distinct but unspoken cry of distress through her multiple one-word answers one afternoon, he decides enough is enough.

His work schedule today is an exception to the past week; he’s got a day shift so Peli’s watching the kids until one of them gets home. It’s a pretty boring day for him, just another round of patrol with Cara, which means it’s easy to find a few spare minutes to put together a plan. He ignores the elbowing and teasing from his not-at-all-annoying partner, and swings by the florist on his lunch break.

“Hold these.” He shoves the mixed bouquet in its crystal vase into his partner’s lap when he gets back in the car. He pulls back out into traffic; it’s not a long distance to the office building.

“Jeez.” Cara spits leaves out of her mouth after a few minutes of trying to peer around them. “How much did you plop down for this?”

“Enough,” he answers shortly, finding a parking spot with relative ease and snatching the flowers back. “Wait here.”

“Can’t I come with you?” She whines dramatically.

“No,” he snaps even though he knows she’s kidding, and shuts the door on her smirk.

Omera’s office is on the third floor, which means he has to suffer through the most awkward elevator ride of his life with men who give him sympathetic looks. One of them sighs and nods at the flowers.

“Which one did you forget? Birthday or anniversary?”

Dyn squints at him. “…neither.”

The guy frowns in a way that one can only call puzzled.

“Did she not like her Christmas present?”

“No,” Dyn says, beginning to grow annoyed. “She’s just having a bad day.”

“Oof. She actually tell you that? Must be really bad, then.”

“No, she didn’t tell me,” Dyn says irritably. “I haven’t even spoken to her since this morning. But we’ve been texting all day and I can tell.”

His mouth drops open. “You…you can tell that through texting?”

“You can’t?” Dyn retorts before he squeezes through the doors the second they’re open wide enough.

He’s so relieved at being out of the elevator that he nearly runs right into someone coming around the corner.

“Oh, sorry I - “ he chokes on the rest of it.

“My, my.” A tongue comes out to run itself over bared teeth, lip piercing glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Dyn Jarren. Don’t you look well.”

He swallows, barely. “Xi’an.”

She grins, feral and wicked like he remembers and runs her eyes up and down him in a way that makes his skin crawl. “I’d forgotten how good you looked in this. Always did like a man in uniform.”

“Yeah, well my girlfriend likes me in an apron,” he shoots back before he can think better of it. He regrets it instantly, even if it is satisfying seeing her eyes widen when she’s unprepared for his verbal jab.

“Girlfriend?” she echoes, regaining her footing quickly. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“None of your business.” He shoulders past her, wishing this office building wasn’t so big. From what Omera’s told him and the contact information he looked up online, the suite she works in is the third on the left after taking a right turn past the elevators….

“Oh, come on Dyn,” she purrs behind him. “I can’t help but be curious. And surprised, really, I didn’t think you’d give romance another go.”

That does it.

“I didn’t think I would either. Especially after you and your brother’s illegal activities almost cost me my job. But then I was lucky enough to meet a woman who’s kinder than she is self-serving.” He gestures to the enormous bouquet he’s holding. “And I plan on coming to visit her whenever I can. And when that happens, you’re gonna stay away from me. Got it?”

He’s rounded on her, for once not caring if the woman he’s speaking to is intimidated into backing up a step or two. In fact, he hopes it. Her proximity is making his ears ring, a blaring red siren in the back of his mind screaming _danger danger danger_.

Xi’an stares up at him, eyes wide and all traces of mockery gone. She swallows.

“I – “

“Dyn?”

He whirls instantly, feeling his hackles smooth back down when he sees Omera standing in the hallway looking shocked.

“Hey.” He turns his back on Xi’an and sweeps down the hall. He’s not…pleased, exactly, but more satisfied when he gets close enough to tell that his hunch was right. It’s been a long day, as evidenced by Omera’s tired expression and slouched shoulders.

“Hi.” She welcomes his kiss happily but still looks confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought you might like some cheering up.” He hands her the flowers and honestly? The way her smile softens the furrow in her brow makes every penny he spent well worth it. And then some.

“They’re beautiful, Dyn. Thank you.” She kisses him again, longer and deeper than is probably appropriate in a place of work, but he’s not going to complain. He smiles down at her when they pull back.

“Who was that?” she asks innocently.

“Oh.” Dyn grimaces. “Uh…my ex.”

“Oh.” Omera simply accepts his answer and goes right back to admiring her flowers. She isn’t fazed, and he’s not surprised. Except that she should be, because it’s Xi’an.

“It didn’t end well,” he offers. “She and her brother and their friends were into some shady stuff I didn’t know about. I almost lost my job.”

Omera blinks up at him in surprise. “Oh. Well, then…” she peers around him. “She’s gone. And I guess I’m glad you’re rid of her, regardless of whether or not you’re with me. She doesn’t sound like a nice person.”

“She isn’t,” he agrees. “But if she ever bothers you, I’d like to know about it.”

She studies him for a moment. “Okay.”

Satisfied, he turns his attention back to more pleasant topics, like the way she lets him hold her close and the way she presses her face into his chest.

“Sorry you’re having a rough day,” he says quietly. Even tired and frustrated, she’s still lovely to look at. He’s pretty sure her hair was down this morning but now it’s a messy knot on the back of her head. Strands are hanging loose by her face, dark and silky smooth when he tucks them behind her ears.

“It’s a lot better now.” She smiles up at him in that way that makes him feel warm right down to his toes. “I really love the flowers. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Can I bring you anything else?”

“No, this is more than enough.”

“Okay.” He lets himself enjoy holding her a moment longer before he sighs. “I should get back, Cara’s waiting in the car.”

“All right.” She sounds much less exhausted than a few minutes ago. “Thanks for stopping by. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” As he’s withdrawing his arm from around her, he spots a flier taped to the door she presumably came out of. “Hey, is that this weekend?”

“Hm?” She twists to look over her shoulder. “Oh. That.”

“Yeah, that,” he says, amused.

She shrugs, turned back around but not quite meeting his eyes. “Just a dumb office party for New Year’s.”

Dyn bends his knees a little to make eye contact. “You…don’t wanna go?”

“It’s not that.”

He studies her, trying to gauge when he’s supposed to simply respect her answer versus gently pushing her to tell him whatever’s bothering her.

“Is…I mean, if you don’t want to go at all that’s fine, or if you’d rather go by yourself then – “

“No,” she says quickly. “I don’t want to go by myself.”

“Okay then,” he says, feeling no more sure of what the root issue is. “Then, I’d be happy to go with you. If you wanted to.”

She looks up at him uncertainly. “Are you sure? I know it’s not your thing.”

“Are you gonna be there?”

She frowns. “Yes.”

“Then it sounds exactly like my thing.”

He’s rewarded with a soft smile and another kiss, which he happily reciprocates. But he isn’t to be distracted from how hesitant she was to bring up the party in the first place.

“Did…were you afraid I was gonna say no?”

“No,” she assures him. “I just…it’s silly.”

He watches her fiddle with the bouquet she’s holding for a moment or two, before he rechecks the still-empty hallway and leads her over to a bench sitting against the wall.

“What is it?”

“Dyn, it’s nothing – “

“It’s not nothing,” he insists as gently as he can. “I’m a cop, I know how to interrogate people, _mi_ _querida_.”

She gives him a very insincere dirty look. “It sounds so stupid to admit it.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re stupid for feeling it.”

There are several long moments of silence. He waits patiently.

She sighs. “Some of my coworkers…well, they asked me how my Christmas was. And I told them it was wonderful, the best I’ve ever had, and they wanted to know why. So I told them about you.”

He thinks very hard, but comes up empty. “Okay. Are you regretting telling them?”

“No!” she exclaims. “But…Dyn, they were so _surprised_. This morning I found out that a few of them don’t even believe me, as if I’m making up a fictional boyfriend just to feel less lonely, I guess, I don’t know – “

He gathers pretty quickly that this has hurt her, deeper and sharper than perhaps she would have expected it to. The thought makes him sad and angry in equal measure. One of his hands takes the bouquet from her and sets it gently on the floor so he can wrap both arms around her. She hugs him back tightly, not tearing up but definitely upset.

“I know it doesn’t matter,” she says in a small voice. “I _know_ it doesn’t. Your opinion and mine are the only ones that matter. But I didn’t realize they all saw me as…past my prime, or whatever. I mean, I wasn’t super young when I had Winta but she’s only nine, and I…”

She sighs and leans into his chest a little more. Dyn tucks her head beneath his chin, mind whirling at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he offers quietly. “That’s…not very kind of them.”

Omera straightens and gives him a tiny smile. “It’s all right. I mean, it will be.”

It most definitely is not all right, but he knows what she means so he nods along.

“I’m sorry,” she says suddenly. “You said Cara was waiting for you in the car, and you’ve got to get back to work I’m sure. I didn’t mean to take so much of your time.”

“It’s fine, _mi querida_.” He brushes the back of his fingers down her cheekbone. “Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll pick up something on the way home.”

Her spine goes limp and her smile looks a little more sincere. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”

They say their goodbyes quickly after that, and he’s pleased to note that she looks a little happier when he leaves her at her office door. Cara is going stir crazy in the car, and is on him before he can even get his seat belt done.

“Well, you don’t look like you had a make-out session. So the only other option is you actually talked that whole time. But that doesn’t sound like you, so I’m not sure – “

“I need your help,” he cuts her off, pulling out into traffic.

Cara blinks, surprised right out of mocking him. “Uh. Okay?”

He tells her the gist of what Omera shared with him; his partner wrinkles her nose.

“That’s a dick move,” she mutters. “Where do they get off, anyway, making her feel like it’s a big shock that she’s found somebody?”

“My thoughts exactly.” He exhales slowly through his nose. “Her office New Year’s party is this weekend. So what I need to know is – “

“ – how to make it inescapably clear to everyone there that you’re a total goner for that sweet woman, without coming off as creepy, territorial, or clingy?”

This. _This_ is why Cara is his best friend.

He’s so relieved at being understood that he just nods. She hums thoughtfully.

“Let me text her some today. I’ll gather some intel and get back with you tomorrow.”

“Don’t tell her I said anything,” he says. “I don’t want her thinking I feel sorry for her or something.”

“I won’t,” she promises. “In the meantime, you need to talk to Winta.”

“Winta?” he echoes. “Why?”

“Because she’s the one who’s been watching romantic comedies with her mom for the past several years. That little girl will be a _goldmine_ of information.”

“Huh.” It’s not a bad idea. Certainly better than watching those movies himself. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do that tomorrow when I take her to school. Our shift doesn’t start till almost lunchtime.”

“Great. We’ll meet up and compare notes.” Cara settles back in her seat, completely forgetting to make fun of him for the rest of the day, so focused is she on their mission. Their shift goes smoothly, and he picks up the stuff for a quick stir-fry on his way home.

He’s greeted at the door with one kid hugging his middle, and another wrapping himself around Dyn’s leg. All he can do is grin down at them both.

“Hey. Were you guys good today for Peli?”

“They were,” that woman confirms, appearing out of the kitchen.

“Oh,” Dyn says, surprised. “I didn’t know you were still here, Omera’s car is in her driveway.”

“Yeah, she got home bout half an hour ago.” Peli shakes her head. “Poor thing looked dead on her feet. I sent her back over to take a shower and told her I’d stay till you got here.”

“Ah. Thank you.” With a toddler still hanging on his leg, Dyn hobbles over to the bookcase, where he keeps a jar of cash. “Here, thanks again. Do you need a ride?”

Before she can answer, a taxi honks from the curb.

“I’m all set. See you munchkins tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye, Aunt Peli!” Winta shouts over her shoulder, already dragging Dyn down the hallway as fast as she can with the baby making walking difficult, into the kitchen. “Daddy, what did you get us for supper?”

“Stir-fry.” He hefts the full bags onto the counter and pulls his kid up to perch on his hip. He blows a raspberry against a soft chubby cheek, grinning at the shriek of laughter he gets in response. “It’s a lot of chopping and cutting with the sharp kitchen knives, so you have to help only if I’m in here with you. Deal?”

“Deal,” she says, getting their aprons and handing him his with a big smile.

This has, in less than a week, become one of his favorite parts of the day. With the baby in the highchair and a happy girl at his elbow, Dyn finds that making dinner is soothing in ways that he never imagined possible before. It gets even better once Omera walks in, hair damp and looking tired but better than she did this afternoon. She’s wearing one of his old sweatshirts and a pair of sweatpants that are baggy and coffee-stained, and absolutely no makeup.

His chest does something funny when he looks at her; it’s not just that she’s beautiful. Of course she is, always. But she looks so _comfortable_ – while he appreciated the effort and extravagance she put into her looks when they went to his work party, knowing that she’s at ease enough with him to come here looking like she just wants to sleep for the next five years…

Well. It makes him want to carry her upstairs and make sure she does exactly that.

After dinner and dishes, (and very gently forbidding Omera from helping with either) they settle on the couch for a movie. Winta puts on some kiddie thing with a weird horse and a chick with unrealistically long gold hair. He’s not really paying attention, more focused on the baby who is sitting on the rug with a set of stacking cups, but when the tower pops up Dyn brightens, happy to recognize something from all the children’s books he’s bought over the past several months.

“Oh, hey, is this Rapunzel?”

“Well, it’s _about_ Rapunzel but it’s called Tangled,” Winta tells him, and then proceeds to give a detailed backstory he can’t hope to keep up with, but he nods intently all the same.

Her infectious energy starts to crash, though, halfway through the movie. By the time Rapunzel and her boyfriend (who is a former criminal? It’s a little unclear to him) are running amok around the city, Dyn is sitting on his couch with his feet on the coffee table, with Omera passed out on one shoulder, Winta on the other, and the baby curled up on his chest.

Good thing he doesn’t have to pee.

Bad thing the remote is out of reach.

He sighs, and settles in to watch the rest, thankful that at least Cara isn’t here.

/

Cara is sitting calmly at her desk the next day when he shows up with their coffees. They have a brief catch up conversation on work they need to finish from yesterday, and the plans for today. Still, his partner wastes no time.

“I texted Omera some,” she says, stealing one of his pens like she always does. “She really liked the flowers.”

“Good.”

“She’s also wearing navy blue to the party.”

Dyn looks up, frowning. “Uh. Why do I need to know that?”

“So you can match her,” Cara explains. “It’s a couple thing.”

“We didn’t do it for the Christmas party.”

“Well, it’s…” she sighs and makes a vague gesture. “It’s not a required thing, obviously. But it’s a subtle touch, gives the subconscious impression that this is a serious relationship and not a random dude she hired off of Craigslist.”

“Oh.” Dyn considers his pitiful formal wardrobe options at home. “So…I need a new tie, then.”

Cara smirks over her coffee cup. “Guess so.” She takes a sip. “Did you talk to Winta?”

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I…she gave me a lot of information that I don’t know what to do with. I haven’t heard of most of the movies she listed.”

Asking Winta for advice on how to make sure her mom has a romantic evening was a lot easier than he thought it would be. Maybe it’s because it helped Winta feel grown-up and mature, being asked such a question. But she didn’t squeal or giggle or do any of the harmless, girlish things he was expecting. Instead she gave him actual pointers. Good, solid advice.

Just…a lot of it.

“That’s okay,” Cara laughs. “Just work through it one piece at a time.”

“Okay.” He sighs. “Uh, well, she said that Omera’s always liked it when the guy…dips the girl? What does that even mean?”

Cara snorts. “Y’know, like when he kisses her. Leans her back. It’s all dramatic, makes good photos.”

“Huh.” Dyn scratches his neck again. “Is…that something people do in real life?”

“Mostly at weddings.” Cara shrugs. “If your goal with this is to sweep her off her feet, then I’d say kissing her in a way that she’s always thought to be really romantic is probably a safe bet.”

“Okay.” Dyn squints down at his paperwork. “But…why is that seen as romantic? Why do women like it?”

Cara throws her hands up. “You think _I_ know? Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“What, you’ve never kissed anyone that way?”

“No, because I’ve always been afraid I’ll drop them.” Cara shrugs.

Dyn feels his eyes widen. “Is…wait, I – what do you mean _drop them?_ Has that happened before?”

“Yes, Dyn. But I’m sure you won’t drop Omera, she’s tiny. You’ll be fine.”

His partner – best friend, he reminds himself – slugs him on the shoulder on the way to the fax machine, leaving him with no small amount of panic.

That feeling does not recede at all for the rest of the week. The day of the party he manages to get off work early, and since Peli has the kids over at Omera’s place he’s free to take his time showering and shaving without worrying about tiny hands getting into things they shouldn’t.

His suit for the evening is a dark grey, and he purchased a new, crisp white shirt and a navy blue tie. He’s putting on his cufflinks when his phone dings with a text from his ever-so-thoughtful partner.

**_How we lookin, handsome?_ **

He rolls his eyes.

**_Fine, I guess. I still think the tie looks too flashy._ **

**_For the last time, paisley is not flashy. Send me a picture._ **

Huffing and grumbling under his breath, Dyn obliges. He feels utterly ridiculous, holding his phone about a foot away from his chest to snap a photo of the stupid tie. He’s no sooner sent it than he gets a full paragraph of the eye-rolling emoji in reply.

**_Send me a picture of YOU, you helpless lovesick idiot._ **

One grumpy mirror-selfie and several peevishly-supportive texts later, he hurries downstairs so he can meet Omera at her car. Judging from their car-ride conversation alone, she seems to be looking forward to their evening more than she was a few days ago; he’s pleased to see that her red lipstick has once again made an appearance, and is glad that she’s the driver tonight so he can watch that red mouth curl upwards whenever she smiles.

They’re not late but they can hear that the party is already in full swing when they step into the lobby of the swanky hotel. Coats are being taken by a couple of attendants, which means Dyn turns away from Omera for just a moment to hand over his coat; when he turns back he feels like every drop of his blood went from room-temperature to boiling-point in the space of a nanosecond.

Her dress is navy blue, so Cara got that much right. But what she failed to mention is that it’s the sexiest – the most impossibly, _dangerously_ sexy – dress he has ever seen a woman wear.

The entire back of it seems to be comprised of nothing but tiny, thin straps, crisscrossing over her back until the solid fabric begins just at the swell of her hips. It’s short, and tight, and when Omera turns to face him, sleek ponytail swinging, he finds himself provided with a view of quite a bit more of her cleavage than he’s used to.

Dyn inhales, long and slow. Omera smiles and holds out one hand.

“Ready?” she asks, and he’s transported back to the night of his own work party, when she spent the entire evening putting out every nonverbal signal there is to his coworkers that she was on his arm because that was exactly where she wanted to be. It helps pulls Dyn’s focus back to his objective tonight, which is not to ogle this incredible, unreasonably beautiful woman, but rather to make her feel the way she did for him.

He takes her hand, laces their fingers together.

“Ready, _mi querida_.”

/

He lasts about fifteen minutes before deciding that all of Omera’s coworkers are…well. He’s trying to curse less since there are now two pairs of little ears often nearby. Suffice it to say that he wants to be friends with exactly zero people here.

Between the _multiple_ people snidely asking how he and Omera met, obviously trying to get them to trip up in their fake story, the men who apparently are _just now_ noticing how attractive their coworker is and only because of her dress, and the no less than three women who ask him _in front of Omera_ if he has any “tricks” he likes to do with his handcuffs…

He’s ready to go home.

But it’s only eleven thirty, and his limited research along with Cara’s coaching have revealed to him that the midnight countdown is primetime for what he’s got planned.

So he sucks it up, and only downs half his drink before grabbing Omera’s hand and tugging her out onto the dancefloor. He feels much better already, away from conversation and with her in his arms and that red-lipsticked mouth ruefully smiling up at him.

“I’m sorry,” she offers. “I know they can be a bit much.”

Torn between soothing her misgivings about his desire to be here and being truthful, he shrugs.

“It’s not so bad. I’m still enjoying myself.” He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. “I guess I feel sorry for you, though, having to put up with this every day. Are they always like this?”

“Yes.” She sighs. “I know it’s not really responsible to up and leave a job just because you’re not happy, but – “

“Whoever said that?”

“I –“ she shrugs. “Well, it probably doesn’t apply to everyone…but I guess that once Winta came along I was just so thankful to have steady employment and benefits that I never considered leaving to really be an option.”

Not for the first time, Dyn wonders what kind of idiot walked out on two of the most important people in his whole world. He keeps this thought to himself, and chooses his words carefully.

“Do you like it? Being a receptionist?”

She hesitates long enough for that to be her answer by itself. “I…it’s not what I imagined myself doing.”

“What, then?”

Omera looks up at him. “Nursing. I took advanced anatomy classes in high school and graduated valedictorian. Even got early acceptance.”

Dyn’s running the math, and he knows an unplanned pregnancy can’t have been the explanation. Carefully, he asks, “What happened?”

“My dad got sick.” Her gaze is riveted on the knot in his tie. “Pancreatic cancer. It had just been me and him for a long time, I had to take care of him. And I was glad to. But it’s a full-time job, and after he was gone I didn’t have any money for tuition or books. I scraped by with three different part time jobs, had a one-night stand with a guy who bailed the second I showed him the pregnancy test, and was lucky enough to find this job. I started as hardly more than an intern and worked my way up.”

Dyn doesn’t really know what to say. He settles for draping her arm over his shoulder so he can wrap both of his around her. She must understand him anyway, because she smiles up at him again.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “It’s enabled me to provide for Winta all these years. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

“Of course,” he says. It’s a little difficult to talk, with how in awe he is of this woman who’s had no one but herself to rely on for years now. He’s been there himself, so he knows exactly what kind of strength that requires. “You…you’d tell me now though, wouldn’t you? If you or Winta needed anything? You’d let me help?”

Omera looks startled. “Of course I would. And I’d hope you would do the same.”

“Absolutely.” His answer is given without a second’s hesitation, but it sets his mind down a road he’s been trying to avoid lately, simply because it feels like he’s going too fast. His instinct is to tap the brakes, even if it’s not what he wants to do.

“Can we talk about something else?” she suddenly asks.

“Sure,” he says. “How about the fact that you look hot enough to be a fire hazard?”

Stunned, she blinks up at him before breaking down into giggles. He’s ridiculously pleased to be the reason she’s blushing, and he smiles down at her while she tries to catch her breath.

“Dyn, I – of all the jokes you could have told – “

“Not a joke,” he insists. “I’ve been on edge the whole evening, just waiting for the smoke detectors to go off. It’s very distracting.”

Her giggles fade away, leaving in their wake another one of those shyly pleased smiles that he’d move heaven and earth to see.

“That’s very sweet of you, Dyn.” She clears her throat. “I can’t claim all the credit, though. This dress is…a little more revealing than I usually wear.”

“Maybe so,” he concedes, too mesmerized by how soft the skin of her back is under his palms to disagree entirely. “But you could’ve shown up in sweats and I would’ve said the exact same thing. You always look beautiful.”

Her eyes do that thing where they soften and his knees do that thing where they weaken, until he has to look over her shoulder just to compose himself.

“Thank you,” she says very, very quietly.

He risks a glance back down at her, just in time to see her give his own attire a weird look.

“Did…did you _mean_ to coordinate with my outfit?”

“Uh…” Does it make him look bad to blame this on Cara? “Maybe?”

Her mouth drops open, and his stomach feels like it drops right along with it.

“I – okay, to be honest I asked Cara for help making sure you had a nice time tonight, and she said couples match their clothes all the time, but if you – I guess I should have – “

“Dyn,” she interrupts gently. “Why did you feel you had to ask Cara for advice?”

He takes a deep breath, willing himself not to ramble any more. “I wanted to make sure you enjoyed tonight, especially since your work environment is apparently a lot less pleasant than mine. So I may or may not have asked for some pointers in, um. Romance.”

She’s never looked more surprised; for a long, horrible moment he thinks she’ll be upset or embarrassed that he’s talked about her to someone else. Then she pulls his head down so she can whisper in his ear.

“I’m ready to go home.”

His heart sinks. “Sure. I’m sorry.”

She leans back, just a little bit. “Sorry? Whatever for?”

“…aren’t you upset?”

“ _Upset?_ ” Omera wraps her arms around his shoulders in a way that only intensifies the feeling that he’s drowning in her. “Dyn, that is the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me and if I kiss you like I want to here and now, my boss is going to have to talk to me when we reopen next week.”

His pulse thuds, loud and heavy in his eardrums. He has to look away for just a moment; his eyes find the clock on the opposite wall. He swallows. “Okay. Are…um, are you sure you don’t want to wait at least fifteen more seconds?”

“Fifteen more – why?” she frowns, adorably confused, and at that moment everyone starts shouting the countdown. Her eyes widen and she laughs.

“Don’t tell me,” she grins. “A kiss at midnight was in the game plan?”

“Sort of,” he smiles and pulls her to a more open area on the dancefloor. The countdown reaches five, and Omera frowns at him again.

“What do you mean, sort of – “

 _Please don’t let me drop her_ , he thinks.

And then he tugs her close, pivots, and dips her so far that his back starts to protest. But the way she clutches onto him in complete trust, the way her mouth softens and warms beneath his own all make any spinal twinge well worth it.

Distantly, he’s aware that everyone is cheering – whether for the new year or for them, he couldn’t possibly care less – and he’s also aware that he should probably let her up for air sometime soon.

When he finally sets her upright, she looks so dazed that he’s actually a little concerned for her sense of balance. He keeps one hand on her waist, his own chest heaving for air and he looks at the way her lipstick is ever so slightly smudged, just there in the corner of her mouth. He wipes it carefully with his thumb and jerks back in surprise when she shudders from head to toe.

He takes one look at her eyes and feels a little dizzy himself.

“Right.” His voice is raspy. “Time to go.”

Without another word, she leads him by the hand through the crowd and out of the hotel’s ballroom. They retrieve their coats, and to his surprise she hails a cab.

“I didn’t think I saw you drink anything,” he comments as he climbs in after her.

“Nothing to do with alcohol,” she says once she’s given the cabbie the address – his, Dyn notices, not hers – and slid the partition shut. “I’m not waiting another twenty minutes.”

And with that, she all but climbs into his lap, one leg tossed over his knee and her fingers buried in his hair while she kisses him so hard he sees stars. Her coat is unfastened, which is awesome because that means he can slide his hand around to feel her soft, smooth back through all those fascinating straps of her dress. His other hand finds its place on her thigh; when she pulls his hair he squeezes harder than he means to but the absolutely _incredible_ sound she makes removes any need for an apology.

A rap on the partition brings them both crashing back to earth; the driver looks quite bored as they sit there at the curb in front of Dyn’s house.

“This the place?”

“Yes,” Dyn manages. He pulls some bills out of his wallet, tosses them through the partition’s opening. He hopes it’s enough, he couldn’t do math right now if _he_ was the one getting paid.

Omera shoves him against the front door the very second it shuts; he grunts but steadies them both while her lips and tongue wreak havoc on his neck and presence of mind. He slips her coat off her shoulders, tosses it over the back of the nearest armchair, but when he feels her fingers start to tug at the knot in his tie he grabs her wrist.

“Wait,” he gasps. “What – what about the kids?”

“I asked Peli if she minded staying the night,” Omera drags her lips down his jawline. “We have until noon.”

Dyn smirks. “That’s almost twelve hours.”

She leans back, and smiles mischievously. “Yep.” One arm snakes past him, and locks the front door with a click that sends heat rocketing down Dyn’s spine.

“You sure?” he asks, one last time.

Her smile softens from playful to tender. “Completely.”

“Good,” he says, and scoops her up into his arms. She shrieks with laughter, kicks off her heels, and as he tries to kiss her and carry her upstairs to his room without falling, Dyn wonders how any new year he’ll ever have could ever hope to compare to this one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this. I have 2 jobs, both at hospitals, and the emergency room doesn't take time off for the holidays. I appreciate all the love you've continued to shower me with for this silly little series. I'm glad it's brought joy to so many!
> 
> This chapter might feel a little pointless, but our favorite love-stricken single parents finally have an important Conversation. It is a little shorter, but I'm happy with it nonetheless. Hope you enjoy!

She wakes up alone.

It takes a minute to register with her; she’s just had the best night of sleep she’s had in years. The bed is soft and warm and she’s the best kind of sore. But as she stretches luxuriously, rolling over onto her back and looking around the sunlit room, Omera sees her dress draped over an armchair and she blushes down to her toes.

For a moment she’s worried about the obvious missing half of last night’s equation of ecstasy, but then she remembers that they’re in his house and at that precise moment, her stomach rumbles and her nose catches a whiff of something from downstairs.

She checks her phone and is thrilled to see it’s only just past ten, which gives them almost two more hours until they need to relieve Peli. Putting a tiny sexy cocktail dress back on seems stupid at this time of morning (even if recalling Din’s reaction to it last night makes it tempting) so she rummages around in his dresser and heads downstairs a minute later in a big T-shirt and socks.

Din is at the stove, wearing sweatpants and no shirt; based on the past few hours Omera feels _no_ guilt whatsoever in giving herself a few moments to ogle him from behind.

Neither one of them are young, anymore. She’s got stretch marks and wrinkles that she didn’t have ten years ago. But judging by his actions from last night (or, rather, early this morning), Din isn’t one to be thrown off by such insignificant things as signs of aging. And she’s not surprised, not at all, only thrilled because then it’s so much easier to appreciate how well those same signs look on him.

He’s got flecks of grey at his temples, crow’s feet whenever he smiles. He’s got bad knees and a shoulder that gives him trouble in the colder months, and aside from all of that his torso is littered in scars from his time in the army. But that same torso is still lean and strong, and Omera can easily picture how her hands had raked down –

“I’m making enough for two, if you’re hungry.”

His voice makes her jump; he didn’t even glance over his shoulder. He sounds still a little sleepy, and it makes something in her cave, dent in just a little bit more. It’s like her heart is made of softened butter and this ridiculous man has carved out a place all his own within it. She smiles and pads forward, slips her arms around his waist.

“It smells wonderful,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“Good.” He’s smiling now, she can tell by his voice. He doesn’t squirm out of her hold or stiffen awkwardly. Instead he strokes the back of her hand with one of his own, and then he keeps making breakfast with both hands while standing comfortably in her arms. It’s so _easy_ , being with him here like this, and half of it is because he gives no indication of wanting to be anywhere else. A swell of affection makes her throat feel tight, and she nuzzles into his shoulder again, enjoying how warm and firm he feels beneath her lips.

Din clears his throat, sounding amused. “I’m flattered, but I wasn’t planning on serving myself for breakfast.”

Omera snickers into his skin. “Aw, but I’m _really_ hungry.”

He turns and kisses her before she can even process that he’s moving. The kiss is warm and steady, like the late-morning sunlight pooling on the floor and warming her toes. She hums happily when he pulls away.

“If you’re that hungry, we can have dessert afterwards.” Din smiles down at her, his hair mussed from sleep and pillow creases not quite faded out of his cheek. She runs her finger down one of them.

“Dessert after breakfast? That sounds like it could be fun.”

His hands on her back dip lower and squeeze firmly enough for her breath to catch.

“Lots of fun,” he agrees in a rough voice. “But I’ve worked really hard on these omelets so let’s enjoy them first, okay?”

“Okay,” she manages, trying not give into her baser instincts, which are screaming at her to climb him like a tree.

He gives her another, gentler squeeze, and a kiss that has more affection than heat, before he pulls away altogether. He starts to turn back to the stove but pauses, squinting down at her feet.

“Uh…are those my socks?”

Omera blinks in surprise. “Yes. My feet were cold.”

He’s still staring. “Those…those are my work socks, _querida_.”

“Oh.” Why is he acting so weird? “Are…are they off limits, or something?”

Din finally looks up, and startles at the way her brow has furrowed in distress. “No! No, you’re fine. It’s just…my feet get really gross when I’m at work. The shoes I have to wear make my feet sweat all day, there were probably some nicer socks in my dresser you could have gone with.”

Omera fights down a laugh; he’s not trying to be but he’s honestly so darn _cute_. “Din, did you wash these before you put them away?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll be fine.” On tiptoe, she kisses him one more time before going to fix coffee for the both of them.

Breakfast is amazing, since Omera has found herself a man who can cook, and they talk easily the whole time. It’s the most comfortable, non-awkward morning after she’s ever had (not that she’s had many) and she’s pretty sure Din is about to suggest a shower before they have to pick up the kids. As much as she wants to say yes, this is probably the best chance they’ll have to talk for the next several hours. And while every atom of her body is screaming that she’s going too fast, there’s a part of her that knows they’re not, really. It just feels like they should think they are.

“Din,” she says carefully once their plates are clear. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” He scoots his plate away and leans forward on his elbows.

“About…about last night.”

He frowns, worried. “Did I do something you didn’t like?”

“ _No!_ ” she shakes her head. Literally nothing could be further from the truth. “No, not…not that. I meant about the party.”

“Oh.” He relaxes. “What about it?”

Omera takes a deep breath. “I…I’m not sure you realize the impression you gave off last night.”

“Which was?”

“That…you’re a lot more than just my boyfriend. Or at least you’re planning to be a lot more than just my boyfriend. Not that I’m presuming, or claiming I know what you’re thinking, or – “

“ _Querida_.” He reaches over to take her hand. “Just say it. I’m right here.”

She squeezes his hand. “People…are probably going to start asking me when we’re getting married.”

Din looks at her. “Does that bother you?”

“No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No.” Omera’s other hand is now on his, and she didn’t mean to be clutching at him like this but she can’t help it. “I’m not worried, or embarrassed, or anything like that. I know how I feel, and I know how you feel. I just don’t want you to do something that will subject you to gossip without realizing that’s one of the consequences.”

He studies her for a long, long moment. Then he gently tugs on her hands. “Come here.”

She moves around to sit across his lap, but he stops her and pulls he down to straddle him instead. It reminds her of that blessed hour they had on her living room sofa after his Christmas work party, his hands firm and rough on her thighs and his neck warm under her mouth. But there’s no passion in his eyes this time. Din hugs her in close, the position’s only purpose being direct eye contact.

“I don’t care what people say. I don’t care if they think that we’re moving too fast, or that we’re both too old for this, or that it’s irresponsible of us to leave the kids with a sitter overnight.” He smooths her hair back. “If it was just me and just you, we wouldn’t have to worry about being so responsible. But it’s not just me, and it’s not just you. And I think the fact that both of us still want this, and want it at this pace, says a lot about how right it probably is for us and our kids.”

Omera blinks back tears, unspeakably relieved to hear exactly what she was hoping he’d say. But to her surprise, Din isn’t finished.

“I grew up in the foster system. I’ve had people saying things about me my whole life. My CO in the army taught me to ignore it all, because the only things you can act on are the things you know for yourself. And what I know is, is that I love you, and that I love Winta. And I want both of you to be continue to be part of this family, and at some point it’d be nice to make that official and legal. But you and I will get there when we get there. And our kids will too. As for everyone else?” He shrugs. “Screw ‘em.”

She can’t talk at first. “I love you too,” she at last manages as two tears escape.

“You don’t look very happy about it,” he teases her gently while wiping away the two wet trails on her cheeks.

“I _am_ ,” she half-sobs, half-laughs, and hugs him so tightly he probably can’t breathe. She feels him return the hug and she just knows that the happiness she’s found here, in his sunlight kitchen and in his arms, is too solid and sure to be touched by such trivial things as the opinions of those who don’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next....February the 14th. *jaw's theme playing in the distance*

**Author's Note:**

> One person mentioned an interest in seeing some NSFW stuff for our lovely couple, and while I'm flattered, I'm afraid I personally do not feel comfortable writing explicit smut. There will be a second chapter to this, which will include the morning after and hopefully will be enough to satisfy. But thank you for expressing such trust in my writing capabilities; my refusal doesn't stem from doubt but from very personal reasons I hope you'll all understand.
> 
> Thank you again, SO much, and please come find me on tumblr! My username is the same on there as it is here. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, however you may celebrate.


End file.
